


these chains will be your freedom

by mlraven



Category: Tricksters - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dove/Aly if you squint really hard, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Partially epistolary, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: After the victory, Dove is confined to the palace for her safety. She's about as happy with that as can be expected, so she decides to sneak out for an afternoon.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aedifica (millefolia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millefolia/gifts).



> Happy winter season, aedifica//millefolia! I hope you like this, and that your first Yuletide was all that you wanted it to be. :)
> 
> Thank you to m, for their fabulous beta skills, and to tr, without whose throwaway comment this fic would've never gotten past 500 words.

_Rajmuat_

_September 20, 463 H.E._

 

_Dearest Sarai,_

_It was so good to get your letter— I fear this queen business means I have little time to simply be, to walk the city as I used to. I am not ready to give it up forever, but I have agreed with Taybur to temporarily suspend such excursions._

_I cannot convince my friends to visit me here, so until I can convince him of the necessity— and safety— of such walks, I resign myself to living vicariously through you. Perhaps you should be glad that you escaped when you did, so that you can roam free now!_

_The Isles are still turbulent, as Aly will tell you, but I take comfort in the presence of those who have nurtured our family and the Isles to where we stand today. No one can replace those we lost, but we have made the Isles safer for all._

_Enough sadness and whining, though, tell me of you!_

 

Dove sat back and massaged her cramped writing hand. She’d downplayed it in the letter, but she was beyond frustrated with her friendly house-arrest in the palace. She understood Taybur’s motivations— parts of the city were still unstable and there were pockets of malcontents sprinkled throughout. He didn’t want her to die before her coronation— they’d all fought too hard and lost too many for that.

Still, it was hard to reconcile this practical, if frustrating, consideration with the need to be with her people that throbbed deep in Dove’s core.

When the need thrust so strongly that she feared she might give in and leave the palace— heedless of Taybur’s wishes— Dove went to stick her nose into Aly’s work. She shoved the need to the back of her mind, and walked down to Aly’s office.

“If I don’t do something useful I’m going to go mad,” she announced, positioning herself firmly in Aly’s doorway and propping her fists on her hips.

Aly looked up from the papers covering her desk top. “Good morning to you, too, Your Majesty. Feeling particularly Rittevon-esque today, are we?” She gestured to the comfortably-upholstered chair across her desk, chosen specifically for the times Dove came to visit.

Dove made a face. “Very funny, Aly.” She began pacing. “I can’t stay in here any more! If I have to spend today sitting inside and “preparing to be queen—”” Dove clearly mimicked words used by someone who didn’t know better— “without working on anything actually important, I’ll ask Kypry to fly me out of here.”

Aly twiddled her thumbs, thinking.

“Taybur can’t object if I stay out of reach of arrows,” Dove added, mulishly.

Aly cocked her head. “Have you come down for my help with plotting your escape, or for something important to do?”

Dove sighed. “I don’t know. Both. Neither. Do you have messages that need translating? I miss helping with your reports. And it keeps my brain sharp in case this queen thing doesn’t work out.” She rolled her eyes; she knew how likely that was.

Aly smiled and gestured to the stack of reports in the bin marked “Important.” “Well, this spymaster will be happy to take any help she can get, whether or not the queen business works out. Even with Vitoricine, Yoyox, Olkey, and Atisa, the reports keep piling up.” Her expression turned wry. “It’s almost as if everyone we recruit recruits several more!”

Dove grinned and plopped down into the chair, scootching it toward Aly’s desk for better access to the papers lying on top. An afternoon of hiding in Aly’s office and immersing herself fully in complexly coded messages was just what she needed.

 

 

 

 

The next day found Dove struggling to maintain polite interest in the continued talks with those deposed luarin nobles who worried ever so much about their land, now that those damned rascals— er, excuse me, Your Majesty, daring raka, were free.

 _Does everyone think this way?_ Dove asked herself, retreating behind her best court smile. _Before the victory I would have said that a large portion, if not a majority of the city, believed this to be the just way forward. Now, I hear only from those discontent with the new way of things. The only affirmation I receive is from the household, who have always fought for this. I wish there was a way for me to reconnect with the people of Rajmuat; hear how the rest of the city truly feels about the new order. If I disguised myself… then not even Taybur could object to me putting myself in danger._

She played with the idea in the back of her head for the rest of the meeting. After the nobles went through what was quickly becoming the traditional, somewhat insincere swearing of fealty and promising of whatever the Isles needed that they could spare, Dove dismissed them. She shooed away Nuritin and Boulaj, feigning a headache, and retreated to her private sitting room to plot.

Half an hour later, Dove crept out of her sitting room, clutching a bag containing several pieces of bright clothing. She made her way to the public parts of the palace, stopping to disguise herself in a storage closet just inside the Grain Gate. She changed her richly-embroidered sarong for one of a plain, well-worn red cotton with a black ink print, and wrapped her hair in a bright orange headscarf. She rubbed kohl on her eyelids to deepen them and exchanged her well-made copper necklaces and rings for a double-strand of paste-paper beads. She debated, but in the end she kept her Secret-necklace as well. _Just in case of any trouble,_ she justified.

Looking like any respectable delivery-person, Dove exited the closet and walked calmly through the Grain Gate, making sure to affix a properly awed expression at her surroundings.

As she made her way through Middle Town to Market Town, Dove marveled at the ease with which she remembered how to be in Rajmuat. It seemed as though her feelings of distance were only in her head. Clearly, Rajmuat hadn’t changed since she last saw it. It was as she remembered from before the final battle, though with the notable additions of newly-repaired sections of buildings emitting faint odors of fresh paint, and underneath, charred rubble.

In Market Town, Dove surreptitiously ducked into Herbrand’s bookshop. Even in her disguise, she worried that she would be recognized. She forced herself not to approach Herbrand or his wife, instead eavesdropping on a conversation between two regulars who she suspected were part of the loosely-organized support network of laurin merchants and shopkeepers.

“—helped with the repairs to my warehouse, even brought some fresh wood to patch the worst holes,” a luarin man reported, pulling a large, blue-covered book off of a shelf.

“That’s nothing,” a luarin woman replied, examining two stacks of books with a critical eye. “I heard they’ve been feeding the children in the Honeypot every day, even talking about creating an orphanage so they’ll always have shelter and safety.”

The man nodded approvingly as he put the book back and picked up another. “It’s good to know that our new queen has a sensible head on her shoulders. Not that I would’ve expected anything else from Herbrand’s Dovasary,” he said, tilting his head in deference to bookshop owner. Dove hastily tugged her headscarf down to throw her face further into shadow.

As the conversation moved to rehashing all of Herbrand’s best ideas, and ribbing him for those not-so-successful ones, Dove gently replaced the book she was pretending to read and crept out of the bookshop.

When she arrived in Dockmarket, she watched for more noticeable signs of any lingering violence over the rebellion. She walked down an aisle of brightly-decorated stalls, bursting with every type of goods made or sold in the Isles. A cacophony of smells assaulted her nose; dried spices, freshly-caught fish, and fragrant flowers, gently wilting in the heat.

Dove turned further into the maze of stalls, letting the chatter of dozens of sellers heckling passersby wash over her. She skipped past her friend the fishmonger, smiling at an alley cat who was trying to grab the lowest-hanging goods.

Two stalls down, a fruit vendor called out her wares, advertising goods like the “freshest jackfruit in the ‘market!” Dove watched a couple stop outside the stall, and heard the fruit seller suggest, “Buy one for your pretty lady, sir, she’ll find it’s the sweetest in the city.”

Dove smiled and watched the man sniff the skins of several jackfruit before choosing two and exchanging coins with the vendor. When the couple had gone, she sidled over to the fruit seller and began perusing her brightly-colored goods.

“How is business?” Dove asked, tapping her knuckles against the hard rind of a oblong, pale green fruit.

The fruit seller smiled maternally at Dove’s technique, appraising her youthful, half-raka face and well-worn clothes and clearly deciding that Dove was on the side of the revolution. “Better than before, certainly! Now I can sell here without fear of harm from those who deem us not “properly respectful.”” She bared her teeth, her opinion of Imajane and Rubinyan’s bloody regime obvious.

Dove grimaced; she hoped she would do better.

“Have you seen any reprisals? From those who are less than pleased with the new order of things?”

The vendor’s gaze turned sharp and her eyes swept up and down Dove’s body again. “Who did you say you worked for?”

Dove struggled to maintain a neutral expression. _Damn, found out._ “I didn’t, Duani. But please trust when I say that those I work for supported the revolution with everything they had.”

The woman snorted. “Those you work for, eh? You tell old Dovasary that we Dockmarket biddies are well pleased with the “new order.”” She paused, and her eyes took on a mischievous glint that reminded Dove of Kyprioth. “And tell the Cunning One she needs to train you better, if you’re to go out sniffing undercover.”

Dove felt herself flush with embarrassment and cleared her throat. “How much for these, Duani? I think I owe someone some nice fruit.”

The fruit vendor cackled. “Ah, out undercover without permission! For you, three copper gigits.” She sobered, lowering her voice. “You should go home, before you are found out. There are still many who would be less than friendly to a seemingly-defenseless half-raka woman, especially in this new order.”

Dove nodded and pressed the coins into the woman’s hand. “Thank you, Duani, for your conversation, and your advice.”

Dove turned away, tugged her headscarf further onto her head, and began her trek back to the palace.

 

 

 

 

 _Damn, it’s been longer than I thought,_ Dove realized, noticing the position of the shadows on the walls. _I doubt the headache excuse will work._

When she managed to change back into her bejewelled sarong and creep back to her sitting room successfully, Dove lowered her guard. She became too relaxed, however, because she jumped and shrieked when one of the shadows in the corner resolved itself into Fesgao.

“Your Majesty,” he began, face stern, “You really should not go out into the city without a guard. Taybur only imposed these restrictions for your safety.”

Dove made a face. “I know that, and I appreciate his concern, but it’s impossible to just sit in here, doing nothing, while you are all still fighting to finish this war.”

Fesgao’s face cleared, the worry-frown in his forehead easing. “But you _are_ doing things. You are the only one who can convince the stubborn luarin to accept the new way of things. Without your work to handle them, they could be causing all sorts of trouble on the Isles. Hiring pirates, armed revolt, burning crops…”

Dove sighed. She knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept that her job was now to stay inside the palace and talk to recalcitrant luarin.

“You’re right, I know, but I feel so alone; so far away from my people. I needed to make sure that I remembered who I’m doing this for.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. That is important, but perhaps we’ll try to bring them to you next time, hmm?” Fesgao raised an eyebrow, smiling gently.

Dove nodded. As he left, she collapsed back in her chair, splaying a hand over her face. _Well, I guess I won’t be going out again, if only to save myself another conversation like that._

Someone cleared their throat. Dove looked up to see Aly perched on the arm of a chair, arms crossed.

“Before you scold me,” Dove started, “I just want to say that I’ve already heard from Fesgao, and I suspect Taybur isn’t far behind.”

Aly quirked a smile. “I’m not here to scold you; I’m here to pass along a message.” Her eyes went hazy, filled with the bittersweet pain of remembering someone beloved, and lost. “After I snuck out to help burn the slave docks, the general told me that he had known all along that I was doing it. He said that he’d sent additional household staff out to watch over me, knowing that I wouldn’t watch over myself well enough, filled, as I was—” Aly’s tone turned self-deprecating—  “with vengeful bloodlust.”

She sobered. “He said that he knew how important it was to me, so he didn’t stop it, but he told me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to remember— and keep to— my place in the rebellion. That I was too important to risk on a single mission, no matter how personal.

“Your situation is similar.” Aly sighed. “As much as I would like for you to be able to roam around unchecked, you simply can’t. We can’t yet keep you safe in the open streets, much as it pains me to admit it. So today, I had extra guards on you.”

Dove looked up, startled.

“You thought you escaped cleanly?” Aly chuckled. “No. But today, _I_ handled the undercover guards and didn’t tell Taybur, because I know you’ve been cooped up worse than the winter at Tanair, and because I knew that you needed to get out and be in the streets for a while.

“However.” Aly held up a finger and Dove looked, chagrined, at her hands in her lap. “I’ve already spoke to Taybur, and he’s now wise to your ways. There won’t be any sneaking out in your future. We are, however, accelerating our plans for your first official outing as our future queen, so that you can go out again in a controlled manner.”

Dove’s head whipped up.

“Really? You mean it?” At Aly’s answering grin, Dove whooped and grabbed Aly into a hug.

As Dove squeezed her tightly, Aly patted Dove’s back.

Aly’s voice became mischievous. “Next time you want to go undercover,” she started, and Dove broke away and groaned, covering her face with one hand, “Come to me first.” She grinned wickedly. “There are reasons the god chose me, and they weren’t all my good looks. At the very least, I can help you work up a better disguise.”

Aly sobered, and took Dove’s hands in her own. “Seriously, though, I hope you know that you can always come to me. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Dove swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I know, Aly.” She broke the heated gaze, pulling her hands away. “Now shoo, I need to go hide before Taybur can find me.”

Aly gazed at her knowingly for a moment, then grinned wickedly. “If you go to the Robin Pavilion, I’ll tell him I saw you in the kitchens.”

A smile spread across Dove’s face.

“Deal,” she said, and went off to see how thoroughly lost she could get herself in her new home.

 


End file.
